


Imagine Me and You (I do)

by Inky_Blackheart



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Asphyxiation, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Enemies, Explicit Sexual Content, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Imagination, M/M, Masturbation, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Pining, Please Don't Hate Me, Prison Sex, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Psychopaths In Love, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Spit As Lube, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 18:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21342523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Blackheart/pseuds/Inky_Blackheart
Summary: Extended solitary confinement would seem cruel to most sane, rational men, but to James Gillies, it’s exactly what he needs. In the confines of his cell, he can plot, plan, but mostly, imagine.
Relationships: James Gillies/William Murdoch
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Imagine Me and You (I do)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Happy Together", originally by The Turtles (1967). I had this version in mind while writing. If you like to have soundtracks while you read, feel free to give it a listen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_MgnVlEJ2M

Sometimes he grounds himself in reality. 

He pictures Murdoch before his cell. The guards are gone, of course, but the warden is still listening. The old fool waits outside the cell. Who exactly he is endeavouring to protect is up for debate. In Gillies’s mind, Murdoch is angry, glaring at him, pacing like a caged tiger. Gillies stays quiet, waits for Murdoch to speak to him, swallows his pride. 

“Why did you kill your professor?” 

It seemed such a good idea at the time, proving that a perfect crime was possible. Though it evidently wasn't, he cannot truthfully say he regrets it. He'd never have met Murdoch otherwise. Proving himself an intellectual equal to Murdoch was just a bonus. A welcome bonus. He’d never met anyone like Murdoch, he tells the detective. 

Murdoch’s scowl deepens. “Then why torture me? Why hurt Dr. Ogden?”

Gillies’s face flushes with shame. He’s not so much ashamed that he did it, but rather that he failed. She was in my way, he wants to say. She stood between us. She doesn’t deserve you.

“Why did you kill Dr. Garland, then?” Murdoch demands, grabbing the bars, shaking them, like he could rip off the whole door and storm in if only he let go of his composure. Gillies would like to see that, Murdoch unleashed, Murdoch wild, Murdoch the beast. He won’t see it, though. Even in his imagination, the bars hold. 

“You could be with her, then.” Gillies would say, leaning forward, his lips a scant few inches away from Murdoch’s. He can feel his hot breath already, coming out in ragged, angry pants. “I just wanted you to be happy. Aren’t you happy?”

Murdoch backs up. He looks to the ground. “No,” he says, before leaving the cell. Gillies watches him leave, hoping that he’s balanced withholding enough information to bring Murdoch back to him and giving him enough to keep him thinking about Gillies until then. 

* * * 

Reality, James Gillies has realized, is over-rated. 

Reality is his cell, three square meals a day, often cold by the time they get to him. Reality is the prison, being surrounded by idiots who don’t understand him and fear him or are so easily tricked that what began as an entertaining game has honestly become quite dull. Reality is his Murdoch, living in sin with another, holding her hand, taking her places, sleeping beside her…

No, reality is over-rated. His imagination is better. 

He likes to imagine Murdoch finding him in his hide-out, just as he’s waking from sleep, stretching on his bed. creeping in so quietly that Gillies doesn’t notice him there until the detective is behind him, leaning forward, whispering in his ear. “Hello, James.”

Gillies’s heart pounds. “Detective. How did you find me?”

The detective laughs. Gillies’s core heats, threatening to burn him alive from the inside. Murdoch hasn’t even touched him yet, he imagines, but even in the cold of his cell, the very thought of what he wants to happen next makes him unbearably warm. “You may be brilliant, Mr. Gillies, but I’m better.”

Gillies turns, slowly. He’s in his bedclothes, a nightgown with breeches underneath, having opted for a less confining option in case he had to flee. Murdoch is in his suit, sans hat, the tie already loosened, a few buttons undone. His hand starts lifting the bottom of the nightgown. “I’m at your mercy, detective,” Gillies says, with wide eyes and a shaky lip. “What are you going to do to me? Are you going to arrest me? Am I...am I going to jail?” Gillies asks, almost whining. 

“You play the innocent so well, do you know that?” Murdoch asks, sitting on the bed beside him. His hand ghosts over the planes of Gillie’s stomach, tight and taut from the rigours of escaping prison and living off of stolen food. Gillies feels his sick goose-pimple. His nipples harden. His white nightgown makes this extremely visible. Murdoch raises an eyebrow. “But we both know that you’re not. You’d enjoy prison, wouldn’t you? A pretty thing like you,” Murdoch says, suddenly grabbing the nightgown, tearing it off his body and tossing it in the corner. Gillies cannot breathe, panting raggedly. “You’d have the whole yard wrapped around your finger.”

“I’m not playing at anything!” He protests, truth in this fantasy. For all his talk, all his bravado, this sort of act is foreign to him. If Murdoch were to act like this, it would surprise him indeed. “I’m simply curious, and fearful.”

Murdoch puts a hand on his chest, pushing him, forcing him to lie back. He takes his tie off completely, allowing Gillies the pleasure of looking at the sliver of skin revealed by the undone buttons. “It’s as you said, James.” Murdoch leans in and mouths against his neck. His face is clean-shaven and smooth, and Gillies can smell his aftershave. “You’re at my mercy.” Gillies whimpers as Murdoch pinches a nipple, rolling it in his fingers before his hands drift lower. The heel of Murdoch’s palm presses into his arousal. Gillies keens, arching off the bed. 

“Detective,” Gillies moans, reaching up, trying to grab a shirt, skin, anything, just something to anchor him. 

“Call me William,” Murdoch says, before unlacing his breeches and slipping a hand inside. 

In his mind, Gillies has excellent stamina, but reality is vastly different. He can never seem to get past this part in his little vision, his hand speeding up on his sex unconsciously. He orgasms violently, gasping for breath as he comes down from the crest. The guard outside huffs in disgust. He’s probably used to this by now, Gillies thinks, or he should be. What else does he expect men to do when they’re confined 24 hours a day? 

Gillies wonders if he should ask for something to clean himself off with, but he doesn’t. The longer he stinks of sex the longer he can stay in the pleasant haze of his imagination, picturing Murdoch laying next to him, playing with his hair lovingly in the afterglow. 

* * *

Gillies knows that any ideas of gentle lovemaking or even teasing edging with his amore are simply delusions. If Murdoch ever came to him for such carnal, base needs, it wouldn’t be out of mutual respect or affection. It would be out of barely restrained hatred that has twisted into lust within his perfect Catholic guts. 

Murdoch wouldn’t want to see his face. Gillies would be facedown on whatever surface Murdoch pinned him to. Today Gillies chooses the wall of his cell, resting his face against the cool stone to aid in his imagining, tries to picture it along his whole body as his naked form was pressed into the rock. Yes, Murdoch would crowd his face into it, so hard that it hurt, and Gillies would squirm, trying feebly to escape, the animalistic part of his brain rejecting the situation while the very human part relished in it. 

“Detective,” he’d wheeze, the stiff cotton of Murdoch’s shirt chafing against his bareback, “I wouldn’t want to ruin your shirt.”

The detective would growl and let go for a moment, divesting himself of the offending garment. Gillies would try to sneak a peek over his shoulder, but Murdoch would notice and pin him to the wall, wrenching his arm behind his back until he screamed. “I said, don’t look at me.”

“I can’t help it,” Gillies would say, very quietly, like he was admitting to a secret. “You’re so attractive.” 

Murdoch would let go of his arm and press his larger body against him. “Be quiet,” he’d hiss, shoving his fingers in Gillies’s mouth. “This is all you get. It’s all you deserve.”

Gillies would eagerly suck, licking the faint taste of fingermark powder, parchment and chalk from his lover’s fingers. His sex would fill with blood, pressing painfully against the wall. He’d moan obscenely, wrapping his tongue around each digit in turn, lapping at the fingertips. Murdoch would pull his hand back as if stung. “I can wet something else,” Gillies would say, not teasing, just stating a fact. He wanted to be on his knees for his detective, wanted to look up at him while he lost himself in pleasure…

“I said I didn’t want you to look at me, and I don’t want to look at you.” Murdoch would shove his fingers in, scissoring them, making quick work of preparation. “You disgust me, Gillies.” He’d hear the sound of a belt being opened and pants hitting the floor. Gillies, already fully nude, wouldn’t be able to suppress the shudder that would go through his body, anticipating the stretch and fullness. 

“And yet here you are,” he’d purr, presenting himself, “about to sheathe yourself in me.”

Murdoch would push in roughly, pain shooting up Gillie’s back from the base of his spine. This was one of his favourite parts. He’d grow impossibly harder. He wondered, in reality, if he’d still bleed. “I hate you.” Murdoch would bite his ear as he thrust deep, splitting him open, and Gillies would scream his pleasure. Sometimes, Murdoch would hit his sweet spot, giving him enough pleasure to bring him close to the edge but enough pain to keep from going over. “I loathe you.”

“And I despise you, detective,” Gillies would say, voice hoarse, “but I love you just as much as I abhor you.”

Murdoch would wrap one hand around his neck, squeezing, making Gillies dizzy, black spots clouding his vision. This was undoubtly the part he liked best. The light-headedness, the euphoria...with each strike to his prostate, as Murdoch’s hands tightened, he got closer and closer. “Shut up, James.” Murdoch would say through gritted teeth, hips pistoning as his own release grew nigh. 

That would be what brings Gillies over the edge, ejaculating all over the wall, covering himself in a white, sticky mess. The way his muscles tighten as he does would bring Murdoch over the edge right after, leaving them both panting, sweating messes. 

It would hurt when Murdoch pulled out. It would burn, sting, ache. Gillies wondered what he’d look like to Murdoch in those moments. He’d look over his shoulder and see Murdoch’s messy hair, slack jaw and glassy eyes. “You’re beautiful,” Gillies would say. He’d mean it. 

Murdoch would frown. “I suppose one could say you have a certain charm as well.” He’d grind out, like even admitting it felt dirty. 

Gillies would smile. “Same time next week?” Murdoch would give him a harsh smack to the bottom and storm out. 

Gillies lasted through the whole thing, every time. Usually, the guard would leave in the middle, muttering that the bastard was too loud and that he wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t care if the other prisoners in solitary heard him, either. He suspected they liked it as much as he did. It was the closest to what he’d get in reality, he thought. _ Perhaps this was love _ , Gillies mused, _ that I should want to be with him, to have him, even though he would hurt me. I want to give him anything he wants, everything he wants, even if I would rather him embrace me as a true lover. _The thought frightened Gillies. Love was a weakness. Passion was folly. Murdoch was overwhelming. He ached to be near him again still. 

**Author's Note:**

> I researched pyjamas and asphyxiation for y'all so you better enjoy. 
> 
> James Gillies is so in love with Murdoch that it hurts, and I can't believe there aren't more fics for this pairing. But, as Gandhi once said, be the change you wish to see in the world. I don't think he was referring to Murdoch Mysteries fanfiction, but here we are.
> 
> My Tumblr: https://inkyblacc.tumblr.com/


End file.
